In Your Arms

Part 1: Chores

"Lydia, wait! Mother told you to look after me!" May struggled to keep up, jostled by the crowds of the market.

 Lydia slowed her pace, but did not stop. It was already late in the afternoon, and the market only stayed open until five; she would never get all of the shopping done on time if she let May take the lead. Her mother's insistence on having an hour of peace at home meant that Lydia was often saddled with bringing her younger sister along when she ran errands. At six years old, May didn't understand the concept of 'hurrying.' That, combined with her small legs, meant that any short trip became several hours of coaxing her along, dealing with meltdowns along the way. 

 Still, Lydia was glad she wasn't stuck at home with the baby. That was one chore her mother, Caroline, rarely assigned to her; she loved babies. Lydia couldn't imagine why. All they did was cry and drool; at least May could occasionally hold a conversation. 

 "Lydia!" May's whining was reaching a fever pitch. Lydia finally halted with a sigh, adjusting the fabric shopping bag on her shoulder and looking over the list her mother had given her earlier that day. There weren't too many things to buy; she had gone shopping once already this week. She reached into her skirt pocket, checking to make sure that her money pouch was still there. Pickpockets were rare, but you could never be too careful. 

 May approached, panting. The hem of her skirt was splattered with mud. 

 "How did you manage that?" Lydia pointed at the skirt. "You were out of my sight for only a few moments!"

 May looked down, surprised. "I don't know," she huffed. "It's your fault, you were supposed to look after me." 

 "I know, I'm sorry. But I told you we were in a hurry today." Lydia took her sister's hand. "Come on, let's get this done quickly. If we have time on the way home we can stop by the meadow and pick some flowers. Wouldn't that be fun?"

 May's expression brightened. "Yes! I want to pick flowers!" 

                                                                                          ***

 Despite their rush, it was almost sunset by the time the two girls made it home. As they entered the squat cottage, Lydia could smell food cooking. That was strange; usually it was her job to make supper. Her stomach turned. Were they really that late? Before she could do anything else, Caroline strode out of the kitchen. Baby William was in a sling on her back; he stared at Lydia, as though trying to convey how much trouble she was in. May cowered beside her sister as their mother glared at both of them.

 "Where were you?" Caroline's voice was quiet, but the rage simmering beneath her words was impossible to miss. Lydia didn't answer. At this point, nothing she said would defuse the situation; better to remain silent and hope that her mother's anger was short-lived. 

 Caroline's gaze swept over the girls, stopping on May. The flowers the child held seemed to wilt under her mother's scrutiny.

 "Why is May's skirt wet?" she snapped. "I told you to bring her to the market, not take her swimming! And picking flowers, what a charming way to avoid your chores!" 

 Lydia tried to answer calmly. "May's skirt got a bit dirty, so I took her to the well to wash-"

 "I don't care if she was covered in horse droppings!" Caroline's voice rose. "Your job is to make supper, and you seem to think that a bit of dirt is worth more than your family going hungry!" She snatched the shopping bag away from Lydia, then slapped her across the face. Lydia cringed away from the blow, raising a hand to her stinging cheek. 

 Caroline took May by the arm, grabbing the flowers and throwing them at Lydia.

 "Since you seem to love flowers so much, they can be your supper," she sneered. "Now get to your room, before your father comes home and sees what a disgrace you are."

 Lydia silently went to her room, closing the door behind her. Only when she heard the latch shut did she allow herself to shed any tears. 

 At eighteen years old, Lydia knew by now how things went in her house. When Caroline was raging about something, no amount of logic or reasoning would pacify her. Tonight it was because they were late; but had Lydia not stopped at the well in the meadow with May, her mother would have been angry about the muddy skirt. She couldn't win. All she could do was stay quiet... and wait for nightfall.